


Watching from the Shadows; Shadow of the Quiet Man

by LaDemonessa



Series: Shadow of the Quiet Man [6]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Shadow of the Quiet Man, Stalker!Slade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:32:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3893071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaDemonessa/pseuds/LaDemonessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slade watches over Felicity while she sleeps. And yes, it's as creepy as it sounds.</p><p>A Shadow scene of Slade in Felicity's apartment.</p><p>Part of the Still Waters and Quiet Man universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching from the Shadows; Shadow of the Quiet Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [confidentialityspice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/confidentialityspice/gifts).



> Author’s Note:
> 
> This is a Shadow Story I’ve been wanting to write for a while. Hopefully it won’t be the last you’ll see of Slade either. I have more Slade Shadow chapters planned but this one is a glimpse of the scene he talks about in Still Waters and Quiet Men where he breaks into Felicity’s apartment. Hopefully it will give you some insight into his state of mind.
> 
> For more Slade goodness, read confidentialityspice’s wickedly awesome story, ‘no man is an island (oh this i know)’. Please read and kudo that story. She writes a strong female hero, an AU that has Felicity, as opposed to Oliver, being stuck on the island.
> 
> As I said, and as Still Waters and Quiet Men readers know, this Shadow chapter has been a long time coming. I have always wanted to write this one from day one, I just needed to carve out the time. It is not necessary to have read Still Waters or the other stories in the Shadow of the Quiet Man universe, but you may want to check them out anyway. Oh, and always check out the comments sections. They’re my favorite part of any fic. You don’t have to feed me back or talk about this or any other of my stories, just have fun and relax. I treat my comments sections as discussion forums so feel free to interact, bitch, gripe, exchange recs and recipes; whatever you want to do, just have fun. 
> 
> Oh, and yes, before you ask, I am working on Sunshine Suits her, I promise. ;p
> 
> For confidentialityspice who has no clue who I am, but who got me thinking dark thoughts. Thank you.

  
  


 

 

 

Watching from the Shadows; Shadow of the Quiet Man

By JA Ingram

 

Slade stepped into the small house with the ease of a frequent visitor because he was. He’d been there before, a few times in fact. He’d been there both before and after his incarceration on Lian Yu, not many times, but enough that it almost felt like coming home.

 

That made his lips twitch up into the grim semblance of a smile. ‘Home’ was not a word Slade used often as it tended to come with a mixed bag of emotions attached, emotions he couldn’t normally afford to indulge in. He hadn’t had a real home since his mother died when he was fourteen and he was sent from his comfortable home in New Zealand to Australia, where he was ‘enrolled’, or rather sentenced, to a boarding school for Maori boys. It was more of a prison than a learning institution. He’d been ill prepared for the life that awaited him behind those walls. His mother, a ballet dancer and artist, had been a gentle soul who encouraged him to read and explore his creative leanings. His father, however...

 

Slade looked around at the photographs in silver frames that sat on the bookshelves and mantle. He looked into the beaming face of an older man; Lucius Fox, Felicity’s adoptive father. From the intel he’d gathered on the man, he was far more honorable than his or Felicity’s biological father had ever been. That’s good, he thought. At least his darling girl had someone like him as she was growing up, he’d had no one after his mother died, just a bastard of a father who didn’t give two shits about him.  

 

Bennett Wilson, had been a wealthy Australian businessman who became infatuated with Rose Hina-Keha’s grace and exotic Maori beauty after seeing her perform as the Prima Ballerina for the Royal New Zealand Ballet. However, despite his almost obsessive pursuit of Rose during their courtship, he proved to be something of a womanizer after their marriage. Once he had captured his prize, he lost interest and, as soon as Slade was born, he left them and New Zealand to take up with another woman in Spain. He never called, never visited; his involvement in their lives began and ended with the alimony and child support payments he grudgingly sent once a month. When he was notified of his ex-wife’s death, he never even bothered to leave his private little paradise located in the Balearic Islands just off to the north of Formentera near Ibiza. Uninterested in bringing his half-cast son into the rarified world he had created for himself, he just sent him away without so much as granting Slade the closure of attending her funeral.

 

The irony of the island’s name, Isla de la Felicidad or Felicity Island, had not escaped him either. It was, in fact, half the reason he chose to make his first home with Felicity there despite the distaste he had for visiting it in years past.

 

And now the son of a bitch would never leave the home he thought too good for the likes of his mongrel son, he thought with a smirk. He was buried there without a marker or honors because he deserved none. It was Slade’s island now, one of several estates he’d purchased with his father’s wealth as well as money he’d earned on his own. It wasn’t a particularly large property, not nearly as big as the estates he owned in England and New Zealand at only fourteen acres, but the hacienda there was well-appointed and the views lovely enough to keep Felicity happy as they got to know one another. Once she settled in they’d travel, see the world, and perhaps even start a little family of their own. For now though, he was happy to take the home his bastard father had used to entertain his mistresses and piss on his grave by creating a life for himself and Felicity there.

 

He put down the photo and moved further into the room, occasionally picking up some small knickknack or another until he came to an older photo of Felicity’s mother, Evelyn Smoak-Fox.

 

He took in her finely boned features and haunting beauty carefully, easily seeing the resemblance between mother and daughter despite the difference in hair color and skin tone.  Like his own mother, she had been an artist as well. He liked that, he thought with a smile. It was just one more thing they had in common. Knowing how comforted he was by seeing his own mother’s art on display throughout his homes, he asked his man, Lord, to track down some of her work but it hadn’t been easy. Apparently there had been a resurgence in interest in her work so her paintings were greatly in demand but money was no object. He managed to locate four of her paintings and had them shipped to his home on the island. It was a gesture he hoped she would appreciate. He even had Lord commission an expert forger to replicate the painting her mother had done of her, _My Happiness_ , the same one hanging in the Wayne Foundation Gallery.

 

There had been a bit of a bidding war over it; he, some other mystery bidder, and Wayne got into it over the piece but he finally let it go when it hit the four million mark, not because he couldn’t afford it, but because he knew the other man’s reputation well enough to know he wouldn’t quit even if he drove it up to ten times that amount. He’d been tempted to just steal it but, at the time, that would’ve been too risky.  Hopefully she’d be happy with the copy but, if not, he could always have someone switch the two out later.

 

He was glad that, despite losing her mother at so young of an age, she’d been well cared for. After his own mother’s death he hadn’t been nearly as lucky.

 

He put down the photo and looked around the modest home. His girl could have afforded a much better home without even touching a cent of her adopted father’s money, but she chose to live within her means instead. She had a little under a million dollars tucked away in a nest egg separate from her trust fund, a few nest eggs actually, and could have more than that given her talents as a hacker, but she was happy living a simple life, settling her debts with monies from her meager paycheck instead. If he didn’t already love her, that would clinch it for him. His Felicity was a planner, like him, a woman of simple tastes and hardworking, again like him, but someone who enjoyed the simple comforts of home which was something he was coming to appreciate more and more as time passed.

 

He looked around at the brightly colored abstract art, the soft cashmere throw over the back of the couch, the fresh bowl of cut flowers on the table. He fingered the petals gently. She liked all kinds of flowers as long as they were brightly colored and fragrant. Every time he would visit there would be at least one fresh arrangement on the table. This time she’d chosen a simple arrangement of carnations, irises, and roses of all different shades, chosen more for scent than color.

 

His own mum had been a gardening enthusiast. He remembered spending hours with her digging up weeds, planting fruits and vegetables, but the roses had always been his favorite as a boy. He loved the smell of them, the beauty, and later he appreciated them even more because they reminded him of her. It was also what kept him alive on that damnable island. His mother's instructions on herbal lore augmented by Shado's own knowledge of plants helped him keep his belly relatively fed and his wounds from succumbing to infection.  

 

“Honey Perfume,” he whispered as he smelled first an apricot rose, “Fragrant Plum,” he sniffed at the pale lavender tea rose, “Radiant Perfume,” he smiled as he brushed his fingertips over the large sunny yellow bloom that reminded him of her hair, “Double Delight,” he chuckled at the ombré  creamy white flowers with rich, cherry-red edges. Such an unusual bloom for his remarkable girl, but so her at the same time.

 

Knowing her love of color and flowers, he’d had his gardeners put in beds of all different types of blossoms for her to enjoy including bougainvillea topiaries in rich magenta, rich purple wisteria, and blood red hibiscus, along with all manner of climbing roses, trees, and other vegetation. He never wanted her to feel trapped or that he was denying her anything even though he knew she would be resistant at first. He wanted her to be able to walk the grounds freely and enjoy all that he could provide.

 

He wanted her to make it a home. Their home.

 

 He hadn’t had a home in a very, very long time, he thought, allowing a moment of melancholy to pass through him. He didn’t often indulge those types of feelings within himself but being in Felicity’s space always made the madness that consumed his warrior side fade just enough to allow the man to take hold once again. 

 

After his own mother’s death, life did not get any easier for him. In his new ‘home’, his love of art and dance made him an easy target for the other boys. Like him, many of the boys were of the Te Arawa  and Ngāti Kahungunu tribes, fierce warrior clans who viewed his soft-spoken nature and the easy grace his mother had imbued in him with disgust. The only things respected within those walls were strength, being good at rugby, and being able to hold your own in a fight. As such, his slight build and sensitive nature offended them to the point of violence.

 

His first week at the school, he’d been so severely beaten by one of the other boys, he wound up in a coma for two weeks as a result.  When he woke up, his once smooth face had been disfigured by the scars the other boy gave him when he’d stomped his skull with the heel of his boot. After that, he put aside childish things, let go of the memories of his mother and home, and learned the art of survival. Two years later, he found that boy who had nearly killed him and returned the favor—in spades. After beating him half to death with his fists, he finished the job by stomping his skull so severely they couldn’t even identify the body through dental records. It had been his first kill, but it was far from his last.   

 

He was sixteen when he joined the Army where they honed his skills even further before he was recruited as a field operator for the Australian Special Intelligence Service. His dedication to the fight, his willingness to kill, had made him few friends but had kept him alive both in this world and the island hell that finally claimed whatever was left of his soul. Upon escaping Lian Yu, he sealed his pact with the devil by seeking out his father, killing him, and claiming his estate and holdings so as to fund his quest to make Oliver Queen pay for the wrongs done to him just as he had done with that boy so many years before; a boy whose name he could no longer even remember. The only reminders he had of him were the memories of his screams and the deep crescent shaped scar near his right eye the boy’s boot had left behind, the same eye Oliver took from him after killing the woman he loved.

 

Slade walked over to the bank of oversized windows facing the couch, methodically checking the locks and pulling the blinds, frowning at the draft that he could feel coming from the uninsulated panes. This place was so insecure it was tragic, he thought in disgust. Once again he regretted the fact that he couldn’t merely take her away from this rundown little house and the danger she was exposed to thanks to Oliver Queen and his cunning band of Merry Men. Anyone with half a brain could break in here even with the additional keypad on the door. He reached out and scraped at the dull off-white silicon that joined glass to wood with his fingernail and growled under his breath as it pulled away and tore effortlessly. The caulking on the windows was so old and dried out that you could remove the glass with nothing more than a pen knife.

 

No, they needed to move up the timeline, he decided. Enough was enough. Merlyn was already pressing all of his buttons by insisting he kill Felicity as well. So far he’d managed to throw the man off but it was just a matter of time before he tried something and then he’d have to be forced to break his contract and kill him. He'd never killed a client before, not even when they pissed him off to the breaking point. It just wasn't professional and Slade prided himself on being a consummate professional at all times. On one hand, like it or not, Merlyn was the client and he owed him. On the other hand, Felicity was his woman. He’d be damned if the other man took his frustration with Oliver out on her but he also couldn’t afford to let on just how attached to Felicity he had become. Merlyn might be unstable but he was also cunning and intelligent, a deadly combination that was dangerous as well as inconvenient.

 

He knew the other man suspected something was up however and that his grudge extended towards Felicity personally. She’d apparently resisted his charms one time too often and emptied several of his accounts out of spite. What he’d found even more offensive was the fact that, despite him attempting to win over her sympathies time and again, she’d looked on him with nothing short of contempt. While Slade thought it amusing to see the other man work himself up into a state over Felicity’s repeated rejections, the moment Malcolm began to specify exactly how he’d ‘punish’ her it had been all he could do not to rip the other man’s heart from his chest.

 

Merlyn told him of how he’d decided to break her neck, slit her throat, kill her in a thousand different ways, but every time he’d make up his mind to do it, he lost the will to follow through. Time and again, over and over, each time faltering as something in her mannerism or voice would remind him of his dead wife until finally deciding that, if he couldn’t seduce her into going along with his plans for his daughter or kill her, then perhaps someone else could.

 

Someone like Slade. After all, he threatened to kill her once before, held a sword to her throat; all he asked was that he follow through then help him end Oliver Queen’s existence as well before finally enabling him to get revenge on the city that had stolen the woman he loved.

 

He’d tried to school his features into an emotionless mask but the other man saw how much he’d been affected by his words, even if it was only a momentary loss of control. When the other man commented on it, asking if he had a soft spot for Ms. Smoak as well, he denied it by stating that if anyone was going to take her life it would be him and only him. He owed Oliver the pain of watching the woman he loved die and told Malcolm that he wasn't to lay a finger on her or the deal was off; she was his and his alone.

 

At the time he'd seemed pleased by his answer but if he thought he could manipulate him into doing whatever it was he wanted by threatening Felicity, despite his own admitted weakness towards her, Merlyn wouldn’t hesitate to use her life as leverage. It was a dangerous game he was playing and she was the weak link. The sooner he got this done so he could get her and bring her home the better.

 

 _Home_ , he thought with a silent snort. It seemed the two just went together; home and Felicity. He couldn’t think of one without thinking of the other.

 

Slade Wilson was a soldier, a warrior; _‘home’_ was a foreign concept to him. The lust for freedom and survival that sprang from both his chosen profession and the Maori blood that ran in his veins balked at the very thought of being tied down to any one place. The idea of placing himself in such a vulnerable and claustrophobic state triggered his flight instincts and would have even if he hadn’t spent the better part of a year buried in a pit but, like it or not, Felicity had become his home.

 

Merlyn, despite being somewhat of a coward, was also a former member of the League of Assassins. If he wanted Felicity dead badly enough, he’d find a way to get to her no matter what Slade did short of killing him and, if he did kill him, he ran the risk of not only ruining his reputation but of alerting other assassins and mercenaries to the fact that Deathstroke the Terminator had a very large chink in his armor that could be all too easily exploited.

 

Everything was balanced on a razor's edge with Felicity's life on the line and that scared him, one of the few things that ever could. Domesticity, allowing himself to be emotionally vulnerable to another human being; it wasn’t exactly his strong suit. He tried being domestic once, married a fellow soldier named Adeline, had a kid, but it didn’t stick. Until Shado, then after her death, he preferred to steer clear of those sorts of emotional entanglements. Besides, long after her death Shado haunted his every waking moment; she was all he ever thought about before he met Felicity. Wherever he looked he saw her face in the faces of all the other women he’d seduced, heard her voice in their cries of passion. He’d been with dozens of women since her passing but he’d never been unfaithful to her memory; all the many nameless, faceless women who shared his bed were just substitutes for her, nothing more.

 

He’d never thought he’d live to see the day when he would or could love a woman enough to want that, not after losing his Shado. He did though. He wanted her, his Felicity, and he’d have her even if it meant snapping Merlyn’s neck despite the professional backlash it would cause him.   She was the only woman he wanted, the only woman he would ever want again. He’d been faithful to her since the first time he’d laid eyes on her and realized that no mere picture or recorded image could ever do her beauty justice, and once he touched her with his very own hands, he vowed never to touch another woman with tenderness and love again; only her. Always her.

 

 

Even Isabel, Robert Queen’s cunning mistress, meant nothing to him even though she thought she did for a time. She assumed that because he allowed her into his plans and trained her that he loved her, but she was wrong. She was just a tool, a means to an end. He didn’t care about her; point of fact, he found her possessiveness rather tiring and the cold emotionless smirk she thought made her seem so mysterious to be a turn off.  

 

Actually, everything about the woman made his flesh crawl. Despite her sexual aggressiveness and willingness to push boundaries she, quite frankly, disgusted him. Oh, he fucked her occasionally, just enough to keep her on the hook and make her think she was special because he was ‘faithful’ when in her presence. Truth be told, the only reason he didn’t take any other women into his bed while under her watchful eye was because it wasn’t worth the trouble it would cause. Sex to him had always been a means to an end, the purging of tension that led to a good night’s sleep, but that’s all. Even before he’d set eyes on Felicity, the other woman had begun to lose her appeal and Isabel had noticed, especially when he stopped inviting her into his bed. When she told him of how she slept with Oliver in Russia, undoubtedly in a bid to make him jealous, the only thing he’d paid any attention to was the fact that she claimed he called out Felicity’s name in the throes of passion.

 

That’s when he began to cultivate an interest in Felicity Smoak, the woman who had apparently captured Oliver’s heart. After he saw a picture of the other man smiling down at her tenderly, he even considered killing her himself and leaving her gutted corpse pinned to the door of his mother’s house as a gift but, as time passed, he found himself becoming more and more intrigued by her.  Especially since the more he saw of Felicity, the more he watched the footage of her from the many cameras he’d planted in and around Oliver’s office and lair, the more those feelings grew.

 

It was as though the world became brighter, his thoughts clearer, and the raging madness Shado’s ghost would stir in his breast dissipated and faded away. The nightmares that haunted him were replaced by visions of her. When he would think of Shado, of touching her, making love to her, Felicity would be there as well. As he thrust deep inside of Isabel, it wasn’t Shado’s face that melted in passion as it always had whenever he would fuck some other nameless, faceless body, it was Felicity’s. That bothered him at first, angered him and, the angrier he got, the more attractive she became until he barely even saw Shado anymore; all he saw was her. She consumed him, body and soul, and he was lost.  

 

That became clear to him the day he broke into the basement of Verdant to steal Tockman’s skeleton key. He’d been fully prepared to kill every single member of Oliver’s team but the first person through the door had been her. He fired his weapon anyway but every single shot missed her as if by magic.

 

He never missed, ever. He was one of the best assassins and mercenaries in the world, so much so that his clients paid thousands, sometimes millions of dollars to engage his services. Even Ra’s al Ghul himself occasionally sent work his way whenever he needed something done that he felt was beneath his League of Assassins. He was called Deathstroke the Terminator because he was death incarnate; his sword, his bullets, always found their mark…except when it came to Felicity Smoak.

 

It was as though some strange force prevented him from hurting her. He saw her face, her pupil’s blown wide with terror, and he couldn’t do it. Not only that, but he couldn’t bring himself to kill any of them, not even Oliver, not in front of her. He didn’t want her to have to see that. Instead he merely left after offering a few threats, pretending not to be the least bit affected by what had happened but, that night, he woke up in a cold sweat as nightmares of her poor little body crumpling to the floor in a hail of his bullets consumed him.

 

In desperation he grabbed the tablet from its docking station off the nightstand and cued up the live feed of her asleep in her own bed. He watched her breathe and shift in her sleep, assuring him that she was alive and well, until the tightness in his chest loosened and disappeared. He fell asleep watching her that night and every night since. It became a ritual; listening to her soft snores, watching her eyelids flutter as she dreamt of sweet things. Waking to any hitch in her breathing, relaxing only after she, herself, did. 

 

After that night he couldn’t even bring himself to think about touching another woman ever again.

 

Unfortunately, Isabel noticed his growing infatuation. One night, after falling asleep to the sound of Felicity’s breathing, he awoke to Isabel crawling into his bed. The second her mouth touched his he shoved her away in disgust. He watched as confusion and hurt were replaced with anger when the darkened screen of the tablet awoke from sleep mode. The second she realized that the woman virtually sharing his bed that night was Felicity, she got to her feet and stared at him with a hate-filled gaze before turning on her heel and exiting the room, her entire body shaking with barely contained rage. The next day, despite the fact that it would have put their entire plan in jeopardy, she called in Maxwell Lord and arranged to have a hit put out on her without consulting him. Luckily, Lord knew better than to bite the hand that fed him and alerted him to the plan instead.

 

Isabel. That was a mistake he wouldn’t be repeating anytime soon. He should have gutted her ages ago, he thought with revulsion. When he found out that she put a hit on Felicity despite his orders to the contrary, he nearly killed her then and there. She was already on thin ice with him after botching up their plan to manipulate Oliver into giving her his proxy. As soon as Lord called him, he canceled the hit then confronted her in a cold rage.

 

Isabel should have been begging for her life at that point but, stupid cunt that she was, she instead continued to rant and rave about Oliver’s ‘little whore’ and how she needed to be taken care of and that he was a fool to let her live. He, in turn, wrapped his hand around her throat and, in as calm a voice as he could manage, told her that the only whore sharing anyone’s bed was her and that she meant nothing to him. He added that, while he appreciated a good blowjob as much as the next man that did not make her indispensable. He wasn’t Robert Queen, he wasn’t the kind of man who fell in love with whores because he fancied himself a hero who had ‘saved’ her from what she was before, he was a killer and the novelty of fucking her had long since run its course.

 

He also warned her that she’d do best to remember her place in the future. She was a tool, a means to an end. Just because she dressed like a lady, it didn’t make her one, and just because he used her as a way of venting his frustrations in the past, it didn’t mean he gave a shit about whether she lived or died. Point of fact, she wasn’t even all that good of a lay if he was being completely honest; she was just convenient, but that was done. The only use he had for her was her access to QC as her cold dead cunt no longer held any appeal to him. Felicity was off-limits and if she tried to arrange another hit, or harmed so much as a single hair on her head, he’d not only kill her, he’d do it slowly and in such a way that it would take days for her to bleed out.

 

It did not surprise him then that she left him and Starling City shortly after that, returning only after he was imprisoned on Lian Yu, in order to maintain her position at Oliver’s company. Isabel might be a whore, but she wasn't stupid. She knew that a bird in hand was worth more than two in the bush even if it meant putting her hatred for Felicity on the backburner.

 

Isabel Rochev was going to die though, he thought coldly. Both for her betrayal and for her attempt on Felicity’s life. She knew it, too; otherwise she wouldn’t have left town mere hours after Merlyn released him from prison. He suspected it was Lord who tipped her off because, as soon as he called up his old business acquaintance to  let him know just how it was he planned on repaying this breach of trust, the man offered up the information he’d uncovered about Felicity free of charge.

 

When Slade found out she was Ivo’s daughter…

 

He sighed. Lord probably thought that finding out that she was Ivo’s would save both him and Isabel, as if having that information would somehow wipe out his debt. For a moment, it did, especially when he mentioned that the information came directly from Savant himself. When he heard that, he’d felt the hot flush of bloodlust fill his veins but, as the image of Felicity’s broken and bloodied corpse flashed behind his eyes, another, more stronger urge overcame him instead; the need to protect her from that man’s foul legacy in a way that he wished someone had protected him from his own father’s ‘tender mercies’. His only comfort was the fact that Ivo had died on that island and that Felicity would never have to live with the stink of his memory on her soul.

 

Had he lived, the hell he would have caused her…

 

No; no, the fact that she was Ivo’s daughter didn’t anger him after that thought occurred to him. It was just one more link, one more bit of proof that they were meant to be together, he thought with some satisfaction as he eyed the colorful prints on her walls. He may not have killed Ivo personally, but he was at least partially responsible for the other man's demise.  

 

It was fate, he decided. Without even knowing who she was, he saved her. That thought made him smile. After all, his father had been a bastard as well. Just as his father had done, Ivo abandoned her, left her an orphan.  Then, to make matters worse, he not only murdered Shado but he was directly responsible for the circumstances which caused her to be wronged by Oliver Queen. He needed to die, _deserved_ to die, and when Felicity found out about all that, she'd grow to love him all the more for it.

 

Slade looked up at the framed poster of Robin Hood and sneered. Bastards, all of them; Ivo, Bennett, Queen. They were all cut from the same cloth; rich, cowardly, and weak. Felicity deserves better than that and she'll have it; with him.

 

Like Bennett Wilson had done with his mother, Queen was using her as a means to an end. He was merely manipulating her in order to further his cause but there was nothing romantic between them. Oh, he wanted her, that was obvious, but his girl was far too classy to ever lower herself in such a manner. Felicity was a true lady and, despite his pedigree and riches, Oliver Queen was nothing but a mangy cur that used and abused the affections of the women unlucky enough to believe he actually gave a damn about someone other than himself.

 

The proof of that was all around him. He wandered around the room, his fingers trailing over the same objects she had touched. If he really cared about her then he’d be there protecting her like Slade was doing. He certainly wouldn’t be rutting with the Lance sisters like a dog in heat. He didn’t even give a damn about his own family much less Felicity. All he had to do was tell his mother who he was and he never would have gotten close enough to kill her. That’s all it would’ve taken; just a simple word in the right ears. Instead he allowed him that in because he was too selfish or too stupid to protect the women under his charge. He even allowed him to take his little sister. Slade could have slit Thea’s throat, violated her in a dozen different ways had he been a less honorable man, but he didn’t. Unlike Oliver, he lived by a code that would not allow for that type of behavior.

 

He didn't like murdering unarmed women and, yes, he murdered Moira Queen, but he did, in his defense, find that situation somewhat regrettable. However, her death had been necessary and she wasn’t exactly an innocent. She’d been a strong woman, honorable in her own way, but she had blood on her hands. She was complicit with Malcolm during the Undertaking and had her own ties to the League so her death was inevitable. He knew that because he could see that same arrogance and hubris in her that her son had inherited. He saw it in the way she treated Felicity with such contempt, heard it in her voice as she said her name. Even if Blood hadn’t insisted he kill her to fulfill their pact, he probably would have had to end her anyway sooner or later. She had that same look in her eye that Isabel had when Felicity’s name came up in conversation, and that made her a threat. And, unlike Oliver, he protected what was his even if it meant killing a woman like Moira Queen.

 

Just the thought of that, of the many dangers Oliver had brought into the life of his beloved, made his blood boil so, once all of the windows had been secured, Slade wandered into the kitchen next in order to offer himself some distraction from his thoughts. He picked up a cup left sitting on the counter and pressed his mouth against the faint imprint of her bright lipstick then flicked out his tongue, tasting the sweetness of the tea that had been left to go cold as well as the taste of her.  That served to calm him somewhat. Being in her quaint little flat always filled him with a strange mix of agitation and relief, but the fact that this was her space gave him the comfort he sought.

 

He looked at her name written on one side of the cup.

 

“Felicity,” he whispered, sounding out each syllable.

 

“Felicity,” he said again, then again, then again as a mantra until the beast within him stilled.

 

He traced the bold script with his fingers. Even her name made his body tighten with need; need to have her, need to claim her, awakening his need for that strange light she seemed to exude that sent his mind into freefall.

 

He turned it around and chuckled. “IT Girls do it Beta,” he read aloud in amusement. "Adorable."

 

So precious, he thought before opening up her dishwasher to load it. There weren’t many dishes to do, just the cup and a bowl filled with the remnants of the cereal she had eaten for her supper.

 

He frowned at that. He’d noticed in the days since arriving into town that her appetite had been off. As soon as he started the machine, he turned to check on the contents of her refrigerator and clucked his tongue in disapproval.

 

Other than the half gallon of milk she used for her cereal, the only things contained within were a small jar of pickles, a few cans of diet soda, a bit of homemade jam, and some Sunbutter.

 

“Well, that’s going to change after we leave here,” he said firmly. He was not about to allow her to waste away, not on his watch. He pulled out the jam and spread, along with the milk, making a mental note to text his assistant in Ibiza to see to it the staff were again warned of her nut allergy. He’d already done so several times, even going so far as to hire a personal chef to prepare and freeze several weeks’ worth of meals for when they arrived, but the reminder couldn’t hurt. The only way on or off the island was via helicopter or boat and he didn’t want to have to leave for any reason until she was properly settled in, not even to shop for supplies. The hacienda came with a small staff including a housekeeper, a few maids, a secretary, a cook, and a gardener, but for the first few weeks at least, he planned on sending them away so that they could enjoy their honeymoon period in peace without any distractions.   

 

He opened the breadbox, smiling as he noted the plastic baggie of Oreos inside. She was so precious and innocent, his Felicity. The first time he watched her through the hidden feeds he had set up around her home, she’d been eating those very same biscuits while dancing about in jimjams and fuzzy socks. How something so innocent could survive in this corrupt world of Oliver Queen's was a mystery to him but something he was heartily grateful for.

 

Slade popped one in his mouth as he set to fixing his sandwich. He made sure the home he intended to create with her was filled with everything she’d need, right down to the brand of tea and biscuits she preferred, along with making sure they had plenty of her allergy medication and epi-pens on hand. It was a small detail but an important one, especially given the severity of her condition.

 

It was terrifying really how a simple stray nut could wreak such havoc, so much so that he'd even had the gardener cut down and burn all the almond trees surrounding the hacienda. It was a shame really, some of them were quite old and beautiful, but he'd had them replaced with mature pomegranate and citrus trees instead. He even made sure they combed the grounds for any stray nuts after his assistant sent him the research she'd uncovered on just how dangerous that type of food allergy could be.

 

He was taking no chances with her health. He'd left nothing to chance, even shipping food stuffs in from out of the country when need be. Since ‘Oreos’ weren’t all that easy to come by in Ibiza, he’d had to have them shipped over from the States. Apparently, according to the research he’d been provided, the reason Felicity appeared to prefer this particular brand was because they were one of the few commercially produced chocolate biscuits that were considered to be entirely nut free. His assistant even had the forethought to order copies of all her medical information through QC's insurance carrier before hiring a dietitian to go through the house and kitchen to make absolutely certain it was safe, just in case.

 

He poured some milk in a glass and frowned, there had better not be a ‘just in case’, however. He drank it down then poured another before pulling his phone out of his pocket so he could check his messages as he ate. He nodded in approval as he read the response his private secretary had sent assuring him of the fact that the soon to be lady of the house was to be treated like a queen, her every need and want seen to, or else.

 

He glanced down the short hallway to her bedroom and felt the corner of his mouth lift slightly in an unfamiliar expression of happiness. She was more than a mere queen to him though; she was a goddess. She glowed with such a dazzling light that, to him, she could be none other than the embodiment of Hina-Keha, the Bright Lady; the beautiful moon goddess his mother was named for.  And if she was Hina, then he was Tinirau, the fierce shark god of his clan who, though capable of great destruction, loved her with such a ferocious jealousy that none could keep them apart, not even the gods themselves.

 

As in the legends of his mother’s people, they, too, were being forced apart by their enemies, but soon they would be free of all those who dared to stand in their way, and then nothing would keep her from him ever again.

 

He fully expected that she would be resistant at first. After all, their history was complicated, but he had no doubts about the fact that they would be together. She belonged to him, and only to him. There could be no other outcome. He knew that from the moment he held her soft form in his arms, confident in his revenge against Oliver Queen, only to be bested by her instead.

 

He stood facing Oliver, taunting him with his sword pressed to her neck even though he’d had no intentions of really hurting her. No, if he’d wanted her dead, she would have been. Although he readily admitted to being caught off guard as she plunged the syringe into his carotid, he still could have killed her. Instead he released her so she could run to safety knowing it wouldn't be the first time Oliver allowed an innocent to die for him.

 

That was yet another reason he had to hate Oliver Queen. He sent her in with a syringe in her pocket, knowing it was a death sentence, and traded her life for the life of one of his whores just like he had with Shado. The serum wasn’t instantaneous, fast working yes, but he was still fully capable of drawing his sword against her throat at that moment. Instead, once again showing more honor and self-control than Oliver had ever possessed, he’d battled his instincts and lowered his weapon, allowing her escape.

 

He often wondered if she knew or suspected that he’d spared her life. Obviously she had no idea what it was Oliver was asking of her when she agreed to his mad plan or else she wouldn’t have done it. Or perhaps she would have? In an attempt to gauge her reaction and bait his enemy, he’d made a remark about her being weak, but she wasn’t. The whole time Laurel Lance was in his possession she whimpered and cursed, cried bitter tears over her fate, but not his Felicity. No, she was scared, that was obvious, but she never cried, never balked; she merely radiated a calm acceptance of the situation, even going so far as to attempt to offer the other woman comfort even though her kind words were not reciprocated. Instead, the other woman shot her a contemptuous look and continued her tirade, ignoring her.

 

Afterwards he whispered in Felicity’s ear that she was far too good for the likes of Queen. He would always choose the Lance sisters over her, and he was right. For all his airs and graces, Oliver Queen was incapable of appreciating a woman of quality like herself.  And she was special, that was obvious from the very start, Slade just had no idea how special she was until the moment she struck, quick as a viper and twice as deadly.

 

Like Shado would have done.

 

So like Shado, because she was Shado; they shared the same soul.

 

In that split second, as he watched her fall away, he saw Shado’s ghost fade as the two women he loved became one. It was for that reason that he couldn’t hold his incarceration in that ARGUS hellhole against her because, had she not taken him down, he may have never seen the truth. He might have spent the rest of his life mourning Shado when she was there just within arm’s reach, inhabiting the form of Felicity Smoak. Knowing that the two women shared the same soul had been the final impetus towards giving her his full heart. Later, as he was led in chains to the pit ARGUS stuck him in, he saw her glowing form under the early morning light and vowed he would do whatever it took to escape his captors and hold her in his arms once more.

                                                                                                                                                                                              

I was a vow he'd repeated daily since his incarceration. He dreamt of her, fantasized about her, and drew her picture over and over again for months, each day falling a little more in love until that was all that was left.

 

He placed his dishes in the dishwasher then restarted it before wandering around her flat once more. He was taking a bit of a risk being here now. Usually when he came here she was at work or toiling away in that basement Queen kept her in even after having put in a full day’s work in the office. 

 

Slade felt a renewed surge of anger at that. He knew her schedule inside and out, knew her little tricks and cheats she used to function on an impossible schedule. She was up at 6:30, at work by 8:00 even though Queen rarely rolled in before 9 or 10 am; sometimes later. She then worked until well-past close of day, then straight to Verdant to assist his little team until the early hours of the morning. Rarely did she arrive home before 3 am, supplementing her sleep on her lunch hour with a nap on the couch or catching up on the weekends by sleeping in. In any case, it just served to demonstrate the fact that Oliver didn’t appreciate her, could never love her the way he did and, despite Isabel’s jealous tirades against her, he knew Felicity could never love a bastard like Oliver Queen.

 

She was too smart for that. She loved him and only him, even if she didn’t know it yet.

 

He knew it, he sensed it, felt it emanating from her in the form of the soft glowing halo of light that surrounded her. Even now he felt it. The minute he walked in, it had started; that warm flush that filled his chest yet seemed to send his senses into overdrive.

 

His phone vibrated and he looked down with a frown as he saw Merlyn’s number on the display. Without thinking twice about it he sent it to voicemail. He’d catch hell for it later but no matter. Besides, he already knew what he wanted; access to the feeds coming from Felicity’s apartment and workstation both in the basement of the club and her desk at QC. He told the other man that he was planting some surveillance equipment, which he was, but not to share with the likes of him, client or no. The other man was almost as fascinated by her as he was, her defiance as intriguing as it was infuriating to him, but Slade hadn’t allowed him that because she was his woman and he didn’t want Merlyn salivating over her even virtually. No, those feeds were so _he_ could watch over her, not indulge some sick sexual fantasies of control.

 

Merlyn hadn’t liked the fact that he continued to refuse him but his excuse had been that, given Felicity’s computer expertise, it was important they limit their surveillance so as to not set off any alarms. The other man accepted that at first but now he was growing anxious again. No, there was no way he’d allow Merlyn to see her naked form as she emerged pink from her bath or laugh as he watched her dance around her little house while music played in the background. No one would ever see that but him. He was Felicity’s entire world and she was his, and that’s the way it would remain. It was a private thing, something only the two of them shared, and sometimes, just sometimes when she would look at one of the micro-cameras directly and smile, he would pretend that she was smiling just for him. It was moments like that when he knew in his soul Shado was still alive and that she sensed he was watching over her.

 

And he was watching over her. In fact, he was the only one doing so, he thought grimly.  Tonight he had to kill three men for her because Queen couldn’t be bothered to keep her safe. Instead, he had her working all day and night like a dog, leaving her alone in that basement to toil while he flitted from one Lance sister’s bed to the other. That didn’t surprise him though; Oliver had always been selfish and destructive. What did surprise him was the fact that he would leave her so completely unprotected given that he'd escaped the island weeks ago.

 

When he was busy gathering his first Blood Army, Queen at least had the presence of mind to send his man to watch over her. This time, even knowing how much Merlyn wanted her blood, he didn’t even bother doing that much. Slade had managed to put Merlyn off for now, but that didn’t mean she was safe and he’d be damned if he allowed his Felicity to fall victim to the same fate as Shado due to Oliver Queen’s obsession with that whore, Sara, and her bitch sister, Laurel.

 

Oh, but soon all of that would be a thing of the past, he chuckled darkly. There would be no hesitation this time, no elaborate ruse; in fact, he had no intentions of going after them at all unless he had to. Merlyn could take care of that as soon as the Omega Device was secured. One click of a button and, as far as he was concerned, they could all go straight to hell, Malcolm Merlyn included, while he and Felicity left this soon to be smoking crater behind.  

 

Merlyn could play the revenge game now; he was done. He already had what he wanted. Oliver and the rest of his crew didn’t know it yet, but he’d already won. He won the second he realized just who Felicity Smoak really was and, now that he had her back, the rest was just a job as far as he was concerned. While he still desired his revenge, the bloodlust of more than a year ago had faded and all he was left with was a desire to take his woman and get as far away from Malcolm Merlyn’s war as fast as he could.

 

Especially after what had almost happened earlier that night.

 

Slade stood in the shadows watching as Felicity stumbled out of the club looking utterly drained, her poor little body shaking with exhaustion as she fumbled for her keys. It was all he could do not to rush forward and carry her off. The urge to hold her after so many days of keeping to the shadows was so overwhelming in fact, that he threw caution to the wind and left his perch to move closer to her.

 

He was glad he did, too, because that’s when he saw them; three young gang members, Triad by the looks of them. Oliver had been targeting them lately and apparently they wished to return the favor.

 

 _“Get the girl,”_ the one in front ordered the other two in Mandarin. _“But be careful with her, they want her alive.”_

 

 _“Why go through all this trouble? Why can’t we just slit this bitch’s throat and be done with her if she’s such a problem?”_ The smallest of the three asked and it was all Slade could do not to reach out from the shadows and tear out his still beating heart.

 

 _“She’s not the problem, the Arrow is,”_ the lead man told him. _“Chien Na wants her alive so she can use her as leverage.”_

 

Chien Na Wei, Slade thought, his blood boiling in his veins.

 

The third man smirked as he watched her bend over to pick up her fallen keys, _“Alive doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun first, right?”_

 

The lead man snorted at that, _“If you want to fuck the bitch, fine; I’ve got no problem with that as long as I get to be first.”_

 

 _“What about our orders, though?”_ The second man inquired, still leering at the girl who was searching the darkened parking lot for her fallen keys. " _She said not to hurt her and, I don't know about you, but I don't like getting my dick bit off."_

 

 _"He's right,"_ the youngest said. _"We might have to knock the bitch around a little in order to get her to cooperate."_

 

 _“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, and if we have to slap her around a little we can just tell her she put up a fight,”_ the lead man smirked. _“Besides, she’s dead the minute Arrow comes to collect her anyway; they both are. Might as well enjoy that pussy while it's still warm, right?"_

 

 _“Let’s just get on with it. I can’t wait to hear that bitch scream,”_ the smallest of the three said, practically salivating at the sight of her.

 

 _"Yeah, scream; right. Like you could make her scream; maybe we should let Xiaosheng go first, eh?”_ The second man chuckled as he elbowed their leader. _“If he goes after the two of us he might fall in.”_

 

 _“Like she’d even be able to feel that tiny dick of yours!”_ The third man snorted.

 

The salacious tone of their voices combined with the crude way they adjusted themselves in their pants as they started towards her filled him with a white hot rage. No longer caring if she saw, and before they even knew what was happening, he was on top of them. He never even gave them a chance to cry out as he snapped each of their necks in quick succession. The only sounds they made were the echoing thuds of their bodies as they hit the ground. Slade quickly fell back into the shadows as Felicity looked around in confusion before shrugging it off and getting into her car to head home. As soon as she pulled out of the parking lot, he tossed all three bodies into a nearby dumpster so he could collect them later for disposal, then followed her from a safe distance home. He watched the surveillance feeds from his car and waited until she was asleep before entering.       

 

Normally he’d be cursing himself for such a lack of self-control in taking this big of a risk. After all, she could wake up at any moment and find him standing there in the middle of her home, but his nerves were far too on edge to remain outside. He needed the comfort only she could bring and he had no way of knowing if that bloody bitch, Chien Na Wei, would send any more men after her that night. He’d be paying her a visit first thing in the morning to remind her of their deal to stay out of his way or he’d snap her neck as well.  Chien Na might be a big deal with the Triad but she knew better than to cross him. Felicity was under his protection and the sooner the other assassin understood that the better. Until then, despite the risk, he would not be leaving Felicity’s side.

 

His eyes swept through the living space once more, catching sight of the garment bag that had slipped from the back of the chair to pool on the floor.  It was the only thing out of place in the neat as a pin little house. He bent to pick it up and unzipped the bag, looking inside curiously.

 

Slade’s smile broadened as he took in the sight of the very demure white lace sundress. He reached inside, his calloused fingers playing with the eyelet pattern of the simple cotton dress. She would look beautiful in it, he knew. It was all too easy to imagine the contrast of the bright white dress against her tanned flesh, brown from the Ibizan sun, as they walked hand in hand along the shores near their home.  

 

He checked the label, mentally taking note of the designer’s name as well as the size. As soon as he got out of Lian Yu, his first phone call after contacting Lord had been to his assistant whom he instructed to shop for clothes, lingerie, and shoes in her size. He’d even gone so far as to take pictures of the small guest room where she hung all her clothes so as to give his secretary an idea as to what to purchase. They wouldn’t have time to pack after all, so he made sure to already have a bag for her waiting on his private plane for when they made their escape.

 

This dress though…

 

He smiled again. It was almost exactly like the one he’d pictured her in while languishing in the ARGUS prison on Lian Yu. He was tempted to just take it now in order to put it aside for when they left, but he couldn’t risk her finding anything amiss—not yet.  Instead he finished unzipping the dress, laying it flat on the couch, his fingers straightening the wrinkles until it was perfect, then took a picture to send to his assistant along with instructions to have a similar dress mailed to him overnight that way she could change into it on the plane.        

 

Felicity would appreciate the gesture, he thought, and he wanted to show her he could be romantic and not just the heartless killer Oliver had undoubtedly told her he was. He didn’t mind making that kind of effort as long as it made her happy.  After all, it wasn’t like it was a huge chore to see to it his woman had a pretty dress waiting for her when he finally brought her home. He wanted her to be comfortable and making sure she was surrounded by all of her favorite and familiar things was part of that.

 

He picked up the dress and garment bag then carried them into the small guest room she’d turned into a walk-in closet, tramping down the bit of uneasiness he felt at walking into the narrow hallway. It wasn’t that the hall was especially small, or that he was particularly big; it was just a bit of his own restless spirit making itself known.

 

He wasn’t all that large of a man, standing just at 5’10”, but he was solidly muscled coming in at just under 200lbs. Mirakuru had given him preternatural strength but he’d been a force to be reckoned with long before that even without the bodybuilder bulk so many others in his line of work preferred. He’d learned a long time ago that bodybuilders, while heavily muscled, didn’t make very good fighters. Their heavy steroid induced musculature tended to be more of a hindrance than a help as it placed too much of a strain on their skeletal structure making them slow and stiff, as well as more vulnerable to injury. 

 

While he was muscular, the life he’d led had proven time and again that agility and speed were far better tools to have in one’s arsenal so he trained more for dexterity than strength. He took the dance instruction his mother had given him early on and built on that using a combination of Wing Chun, Capoeira, Muay Tai, and escrima, as well as the sword arts, all of which gave his tightly muscled form a slimmer, more athletic build. The Mirakuru, while imbuing him with the strength of ten men, never changed his actual appearance. Even without it though, he’d always had a knack for appearing bigger than he was by being tougher than anyone else. His entire body was a weapon, especially his mind. Those too stupid or overconfident in their own skills, who sneered at his tightly muscled frame and lesser height, found that out the hard way. 

 

He’d killed so many men in the forty-four years since he sprang from his mother’s womb that he’d lost count. He was a survivor, always had been, and so was she. Not only would she be his lover, but his partner both in life and in business. Once Oliver and Isabel were dead, she could take the other woman's place as CEO of both Stellmoor and QC, while he occupied himself with the less than pleasant, but equally profitable, business of death. With his skills and her brilliant mind, they would build a life and a legacy together for many happy years to come.

 

His eyes sought out her door that was cracked ever so slightly and, without even thinking about it, he felt himself being drawn towards her. He barely even registered the fact that he was moving until his hand pushed open the door and he was standing at the foot of her bed.

 

He looked down at her, the sliver of moonlight through the curtains bathing her in holy light, her hair glowing gold even in the darkness. She looked as innocent as a child, her body curled around her pillow and the soft floral sheets draped over her like a silken secret garden.

 

His eyes scanned her petite form, pausing over her pink painted toes where she’d kicked off the covers. His fingers, having a mind of their own, reached out to touch her big toe, pulling away with a start when she shifted in her sleep.

 

Felicity was a very sound sleeper, something he’d learned from experience. The hours she worked combined with the allergy medication she had sitting out on her nightstand meant she would be out for a while but he still needed to be careful not to accidentally wake her.

 

 _Patience,_ he reminded himself. Just few days more and they'd be on their island, making love under the sun, and all of this would be nothing more than a memory. 

 

She let out a loud snort and choked a little before settling back down causing him to frown. Allergy season, he thought. The pollen count had been higher than usual lately and spending so much time in that basement instead of in the fresh air and sunlight had to be taking its toll. And then there was this shabby little house of hers...

 

He looked up at the all too noticeable signs of water damage on the ceiling of her bedroom. That spoke of long-term damage from a leaky roof and, for all he knew, there could be black mold hidden behind the dry wall. Biting back a harsh curse, he made a mental note to have a HEPA filtration system installed in the hacienda, all the while wishing he could simply whisk her away with him that night and burn the deathtrap she was living in to the ground.

 

He picked up the corner of the covers and tucked them over her foot before moving silently to her bedside table. The first thing he did was turn off the alarm on her phone and shut it down. She needed her rest and, for once, Queen could figure it out for himself. He then tucked her glasses into their protective case for her so they wouldn’t be scratched. He’d taken her spares a few weeks ago so he would have them on the plane in case her others were left behind or damaged. He also had his assistant use the information in her medical files to order more made in her prescription along with a set of her contacts. Once they were squared away, he picked up the allergy medication she left sitting out and made note of the name and dosage before walking into her en suite and placing it in the medicine cabinet.

 

He looked over at the deep cast iron tub and frowned again.

 

Poor thing, he thought, she’d forgotten to drain it in her exhaustion. Shaking his head he reached in and pulled the plug then got a towel from the antique cabinet in the corner to dry his hands.

 

No, he’d definitely done the right thing turning off her alarm. She’d be upset at being late for work but he wasn’t worried about that. No, in just a few more days they’d be leaving anyway so Queen Consolidated could just go hang as far as he was concerned.

 

Besides, technically it was half his company even though Isabel thought she’d stolen it out from under him, so that made him her employer. If he wanted her to take the morning off, she would. As for Isabel... Oh, she would pay for trying to steal from him as well as for the rest of her betrayals, big and small. No one takes what's his.

 

No one.  

 

He refolded the towel in his hands before hanging it on the bar then walked back into the bedroom, smiling in amusement when he saw that she’d kicked off the covers again the way his son used to do when he was little.

 

Such a wee restless thing, he thought with a rush of fondness. With a soft smile he tucked them back over her foot before kneeling down beside her so he could watch her as she slept.

 

He reached for her face, his fingers skimming her cheek as he tucked a golden curl behind her ear, his smile widening as she unconsciously sighed at his touch and snuggled into the warmth of his hand.

 

“I love you,” he whispered, unable to stop the words from leaving him.

 

“I love you, too,” she slurred, causing him to jump slightly in surprise.

 

She would do this sometimes, talk in her sleep. Often it was something amusing or nonsensical. He knew, for example, she often dreamt of evil kangaroos and kindly panda bears who she would ask to rescue her from their 'pouches of doom'; something that charmed him greatly. Sometimes her dreams were far less pleasant. She would cry out and call for his help as she suffered nightmares about the enemies Queen’s mission brought into her world.

 

Those were hard to listen to. Often he'd had to force himself not to rush out into the night in order to comfort and protect her, but this was the first time he’d ever heard her say she loved him in her sleep. And it was him she was dreaming of, he was sure of it.

 

Still...

 

“You do? You love me?” He asked, knowing she was still asleep but still needing to hear the words.

 

“Mmm," she hummed. "Miss you,” she breathed.

 

“I miss you, too, baby,” he whispered back, his fingers stroking her cheekbone and causing her to purr with pleasure like a kitten. "I wish I could stay but I have to go."

 

“Don’t leave,” she begged, her brow furrowing in her sleep. “Stay.”

 

“I have to, but I’ll be back soon and then we’ll be together forever,” he promised then, knowing it was probably a mistake but unable to stop himself, he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her gently.

 

She hummed and snuggled deeper into the covers as his hand continued to stroke over her cheek. He looked at the inviting softness of her bed, barely able to resist the sudden mad impulse to undress and crawl in beside her, but he didn’t. It was too soon. Just a few more days, he reminded himself again.

 

Just a few more days and they'd be together forever.

 

Reluctantly, he got up from the floor and stood, his hand hovering over her skin before pulling away. He’d be back though, soon.

 

And, in the meantime, he’d be watching.

 

 


End file.
